


Resolutions

by LostGirl



Series: Second Glances [4]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Confrontation, Getting Together, M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-04
Updated: 2005-04-04
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostGirl/pseuds/LostGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One way or another, Wesley knows he's got to find the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resolutions

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Resolutions  
>  Author: Lostgirl  
>  Paring: Giles/Wesley  
>  Rating: R  
>  Spoilers: Set late season 3, BTVS.   
>  Summary: One way or another, Wesley knows he's got to find the end.
> 
> Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
> 
> Big thanks to [](http://taffimai.livejournal.com/profile)[**taffimai**](http://taffimai.livejournal.com/) for the beta magic!

The bell announced that lunch had ended and Wesley started, an icy ball of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. He dropped his scrabble tile, hand freezing in mid-air, his breathing all but stopping. He wanted to beg Willow and Xander to stay and not leave him alone with Giles.

It wasn't only that he didn't want to face the man, though that was a large part of it. He also didn't want to lose this moment. Finally included, even in so small a way and it was over already. Once he and Giles spoke, he had very little hope of being able to be near the man. Willow and Xander went off cheerfully, Wesley's gaze following them as they said their goodbyes and sauntered through the library door, chatting happily. He watched it swing, trying to do more than pull in small, choking breaths. He couldn’t afford to panic now, couldn't let himself lose control . . . again.

"Wesley?" Giles' voice was soft, coaxing, as if Wesley were a small animal he worried he'd startling if he spoke any more forcefully. Wesley's pride, what there was left of it, wouldn't let him be seen that way.

"Right. Uh, your-your office." Without looking at Giles, Wesley stood, doing his best not to let the shaking of his hands become obvious as he walked. He stared straight at the door, kept his thoughts from the reasons they were going in there.

God, Giles must loathe him, must think him the lowest kind of pervert. That thought hurt a great deal, twisting his stomach and constricting his chest. If he could just make it through this, he could leave. He would give himself permission to go back to his flat and tend his 'wounds'.

 _Hide, you mean,_ snapped that small voice in his mind. _You'll go home and fold up on the bathroom floor again. Ponce._

He made it into the office and stopped, facing the desk, away from Giles, away from everything. As Giles walked around him, Wesley moved his eyes to the floor; he couldn't bear to see the disgust. His stomach was already a tangle of knots, so tight it felt as if something large was trying to make juice of his innards. Seeing that revulsion in the eyes of a man he . . . admired, he thought that might well kill him.

"I thought we should speak," Giles said, voice still on the hesitant side, still cautious. Wesley couldn't understand it, but hated being treated as if he would cower if the man raised his voice. He wouldn't, wouldn't let himself show that kind of weakness.

_As if it matters now. The man already knows you're a worm._

"I'm sorry," Wesley said, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, wanting it to be over with so that he could go off and hurt in private. "What I did was despicable and low. I'll understand completely if you want to yell and I'll stay as much out of your way as I am capable." If he said it, he didn't have to hear Giles say it, didn't have to be torn to bits by each and every word in that beautiful voice.

He waited as the silence stretched, waited, knowing the question that would be next. Giles wasn't going to let this go. He was going to ask, again. And what could Wesley say? What could he possibly say to explain it, except the truth? God, that would kill him. He couldn't live through that kind of humiliation, he was sure of it. He could feel himself blushing at just the thought, his cock twitching as if even under Giles' gaze the memory of that damn pictured would make him hard.

_Revolting, pathetic pervert._

"Wesley? I'm not . . . I should be outraged. Instead I'm slightly angry and rather embarrassed. Those photos . . . they weren't meant for anyone but myself."

"I know, I-I'm terribly sorry."

"Why did you take it? You had to know that, eventually, I'd realize it was missing." Giles' voice was still soft and Wesley couldn't understand why he wasn't yelling, why he wasn't calling Wesley every name that Wesley had been calling himself. The surprise made him look up, meeting Giles' eyes and finding only confusion there.

He quickly looked away. "I . . ." he swallowed hard, feeling tears prickle behind his eyes. "I, uh, w-wanted it . . ." he was breathing too fast and he knew it. He needed to calm down if he was going to manage not to come across as even more of git, if such was possible.

\-----

"Obviously," Giles commented, his voice less soft. He was trying to keep it calm, hoped his frustration didn't show. Wesley obviously expected him to yell, but Giles didn't really feel the need. He only wanted to understand, for once. "Why? Was it because it was two men or . . ." _because it was me?_

Somehow, Giles couldn't actually say that last bit. On the one hand, Wesley had stolen a picture of him sucking another man's cock, it seemed obvious, but . . . He'd met Wesley's father, knew the kind of house in which Wesley must have been raised. It could very well be that Wesley had taken it because it showed two men together, perhaps performing an act he found compelling. Somehow, Giles didn't feel comfortable jumping to the conclusion that he was the reason behind all this, not with all the mixed signals he'd been getting from Wesley.

For all he knew those signals were simply because Wesley was finding himself attracted to men, wanted to experiment and yet felt guilty about doing so. Giles remembered how he'd felt when he and Ethan had first . . . god, he'd been such a fool, so embarrassed by his reactions to Ethan. Ethan had, of course, exploited that ruthlessly. Giles had learned not to mind it rather quckly, out of a sense of self preservation.

If that was the case, Wesley's stealing the picture made sense. It was might have been a way for him to experiment, find some level of sexual excitement without having to approach a man. Of course, he'd probably feel just as guilty about that.

Wesley finally seemed to bring himself to answer. He'd been swallowing hard, opening his mouth and closing it like a fish out of water, trying to draw in what he desperately needed. He was breathing too fast, too hard and Giles suddenly realized Wesley was on the edge of hyperventilating.

He reached out, laying his hand on Wesley's shoulder. The man jumped as if Giles had bit him. His bright blue eyes flew to Giles' face, lashes heavy with unshed tears. He looked so frightened that Giles blinked, wondering what Wesley thought he was going to do to him.

"Shhh," Giles said, still confused, but thinking he'd hit the core of the issue. Wesley felt guilty about his attraction to men, was ashamed. "It's all right, Wesley. I'm not going to hurt you. You need to calm down, though." Giles tried to nudge Wesley toward a chair, but the man was as stiff as a board.

"I . . . uh, I . . ." Wesley shook his head. Giles didn't understand this reaction, didn't understand why Wesley was this worried. Wesley couldn't think he was going to make an issue of it, could he? Giles had already admitted that he'd been attracted to men, that Wesley certainly wasn't the first man he'd kissed.

And that was when Wesley had become angry, when Giles had mentioned that Wesley was not the first . . . Giles gasped, blinking, the pieces falling into place. This _was_ about him. Wesley had taken the picture because he was in it and . . . Ethan was similar to Wes' body type . . .

\------

Wesley saw the moment Giles realized. He'd thought he'd had a reprieve. Perhaps he could claim that it was just because there were two men and it didn't matter that Giles was there or that the other man had dark hair and Wesley's thumb fit neatly over his face in some of the pictures. Maybe he could get away with saying that It didn't matter that it was Giles' mouth, Giles' blissful face, Giles. But he saw the realization and couldn't wait around to see the disgust.

At least Giles would never know that the first time he'd touched himself to that picture had been that very night. That he'd snuck away to the bathroom because he was so hard he hurt, ached to be touched.

He turned, trying to shrug off Giles' hand, but the grip tightened. Wesley forced himself not to panic, instead grinding out, "Please let go of me."

Giles' hand immediately left his shoulder. Wesley told himself he wasn't at all disappointed that Giles hadn't tried to hold onto him. He'd known Giles would hate him when he realized. He'd known for the last few days. It was the one thing that had been worse than the humiliation.

"Wesley, wait," Giles voice stopped him at the door. He should keep going, should go now before Giles could tell him just exactly how low he was. "You took it because . . . Why didn't you just say something?"

"Why? You don't even _like_ me!" Wesley turned then, anger and hurt forcing words from his mouth. "You think I'm spineless, that I’m . . ." Wesley shook his head. "I don't enjoy being laughed at and . . ." Wesley closed his eyes then, shaking with repressed emotion.

 _That's right, you little prat, make an even bigger fool of yourself._ Wesley could no longer tell if it was his father's voice or Giles', but it nearly made him flinch regardless. Here he was, yelling at Giles when he'd been the one to . . .

"I see. And so, that night you were injured, we didn't sit down and have a conversation over supper? I . . . I had thought we'd had a rather friendly evening. I suppose I was wrong, if you really believe I feel that way. Of course, you lit out pretty quickly, so what am I to assume, Wesley? Now, I know it's because you'd gone through my things, invaded my privacy, gained what you wanted from me." Giles moved back to his desk, turning his back to Wesley.

Wesley blinked, shaking his head. "I didn't leave because of that." Wesley had to bite back a groan. Good lord, why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut? It was just . . . Giles sounded so hurt.

"Then why?" Giles turned, obviously confused. "Each time you stayed just as long as it took to get what you came for. The picture, a sympathetic ear, a kiss? What? What else did you want from me Wesley?"

"Everything," Wesley found himself whispering, shutting his eyes tight. God, could Giles even think he was any more pathetic than he was? He doubted that was possible. It was best to get it out, get it over with, and then go home and let the humiliation eat him alive. At least then it would be over. At least then he wouldn't be afraid any longer.

"Wesley?" Giles' voice was soft, questioning. The man took a step toward him and Wesley couldn't let him come any closer without knowing . . . He stepped back, shaking his head and Giles stopped immediately.

"That first night, I . . . you were so bloody _nice_ to me. Didn't push about how I got the injury, a drink, supper, a stay on your couch, conversation, why?" Wesley bit back a sob, looking to Giles for the answer. "Why? If you'd just . . . kept treating me like you hated me at least then I'd have known where I stood."

Giles sighed, giving Wesley a confused look. "I don't hate--"

Wesley had to finish. Now that he'd started it was all pouring out of him, all of it just rushing from his lips, much to his horror. He couldn't seem to keep himself from speaking, couldn't bite back the words as they scorched his throat, burned his tongue.

"Then I found that box and . . . I knew I shouldn't go through it. Obviously I shouldn't, but it was something. It was . . . it was yours and you and . . . it was a look inside and I couldn't help it. It was right there. And those pictures . . . that man was so like me. It could have been me and . . . I w-went into the bathroom and I . . . never felt that way before, so intense, just the thought of you . . . and I wanted that again, even-even if it wasn't right or real or _mine_ , I . . . _wanted_ it so badly that it _hurt_. And I don't know anymore if I thought you'd notice. Maybe, maybe I hoped you would and it would . . . it would be like I'd im-imagined, but I didn't _deserve_ to be there, to . . . I didn't deserve it because, god, I'm . . ."

Giles' eyes were wide, his mouth open, gaping. Wesley guessed he was finally seeing the depths to which Wesley had sunk. So be it. It would be over soon. He could leave, call and have someone else transferred here. Lord knew the Slayers would be happier and he'd never be able to look Giles in the face again anyway.

"And then, when Cordelia dropped me . . . all I could think about was how _relieved_ I felt and that was . . . I b-blamed you and I-I wondered if you'd noticed the picture and I . . . I got drunk. That Scotch . . . the same kind you'd given me." Wesley laughed, knowing it sounded bitter and sad, perhaps even hysterical, but he just couldn't seem to care. His life was over. These mistakes . . . he'd never be able to stay here, never be able to do his job. "Did you notice that? I doubt it. I . . . kissed you because . . . I couldn't stop myself and then . . . it was nothing to you. And I knew that's how it would be, but it _hurt_ and I-I'm sorry. What's . . . god, what's wrong with me?"

He looked to Giles for an answer to that too, knowing he wouldn't get one. Now that Giles knew everything the man would likely never speak to him again.

\-----

Giles stood staring, wondering how he'd missed it all, wondering how he'd failed to notice how conflicted and lonely Wesley had been. He sighed, taking off his glasses and tossing them on the desk before rubbing at his eyes.

"Wesley," he said, looking up and then stepping toward the man, ignoring the way Wesley stepped away. He closed the distance between them quick, keeping just enough space that he hoped Wesley wouldn't feel threatened. "You've told me what was going on in your mind. Would you like to know what I was thinking?"

Wesley dropped his eyes to the floor, swallowing hard. "I think I know," he whispered. "I'll go now and--"

"No. I listened to you, now you will listen to me." Giles saw Wesley swallow hard and couldn't keep his eyes from flicking down to the front of the man's trousers. It wasn't hard to spot the beginnings of Wesley's erection.

"I had just been going through rather erotic photos. You think they had no effect on me? I was there, after all. I remember what it felt like to have Ethan's cock in my mouth." He flicked his eyes down again, somehow gratified that it was no longer 'the beginnings' of an erection he was seeing. "Then you showed up on my door step with a wound on your _thigh_. Do you think I felt nothing when touching your skin?"

Giles raised a hand and brushed his fingers down Wesley's face. Wesley looked up at him, eyes wide and unbelieving. He was panting, his body tense as a bowstring.

"You were straight, so far as I knew. Therefore, it was nothing, meant nothing. I thought, however, that we'd had a nice conversation, that we could perhaps be mates, something other than adversaries. Didn't stop me from touching myself when I went upstairs. Didn't stop me from thinking of you."

Wesley gasped, this time swaying lightly into the touch Giles brushed along his lips. He blinked as if he doubted what he was seeing.

"And when you came over the second time? Drunk and out of your mind? I was thinking about your lips, about taking you upstairs and shagging you into the mattress. I thought you were looking for someone to listen, someone to stand in for your father."

Wesley went stiff, looking at Giles with wide, wild eyes. "M-my father? God, no."

Giles smiled slightly at that, leaning in more closely to Wesley. "And when you kissed me? I let myself pretend for just a moment that it was me you wanted to be kissing."

Wesley blinked, shaking his head. "No. That's not . . . but, I--"

Giles leaned in, cutting off Wesley's words by capturing his lips, reveling in the feel of them, the soft, wanting sounds Wesley made as Giles licked over his mouth. Wesley parted his lips, his body swaying and all but melting against Giles. Giles slipped his arms around him, pulling their bodies tight together. He kissed Wesley hard, trying to use it to convince the man that everything he'd said was true.

Then Wesley was kissing him back, just as hard, making more of those soft little sounds that made Giles want to strip him then and there, show him what Ethan had felt when that picture was taken.

When he pulled away, Wesley looked dazed and Giles could hardly blame him. It had been a long time since a kiss had affected him so. He sighed, pressing hips forward, letting Wesley get a good, long feel of how hard he was, how effected.

\-----

Wesley blinked, panting hard as he stared at Giles. When the man thrust his hips forward, Wesley gasped, his eyes fluttering shut for only a moment. He opened them again, quickly, half certain Giles would be gone. He wasn't, the man stood watching him, apparently waiting.

"How . . . why . . ."

"Because I've wanted to do that for quite some time," Giles answered softly and then snorted. "Now, as to the matter of the photograph."

Wesley blinked, his stomach dropping. Giles couldn't take that kiss back now, could he? Couldn't take back all those things he'd said. Wesley mentally flailed, frightened that Giles was going to say it all meant nothing, that it--that Wesley was nothing to him. The thought that things might have been different had he not taken that picture made him want to weep. Giles couldn't tell him all that and then just snatch it away. Could he?

"It's yours." Giles pulled the picture out of his pocket, barely looking at it before holding it out to Wesley. Wesley took it, his eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to figure out Giles' motivation. "If that's what you want. It's yours. No strings, no guilt, all forgiven and forgotten. That or you can tell me what you want from me and maybe get it."

Giles stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, tilting his head with a raise of his eyebrows that just screamed, 'Well? Do you have a spine? I want to see.'

Wesley swallowed hard, glancing at the picture and then back to Giles. "Why? What's this . . ." he waved the picture about, motioning between the two of them.

"It was easier for you to take that, to invade my privacy, cause us both a lot of needless embarrassment, than it was for you to face me and risk being rejected. Well, now you have a choice. You can be an adult, someone I might not mind getting to know better, or you can take that picture and the easy way out. Either way, this incident is over. It's your choice how this ends, Wesley."

"B-but . . ." Wesley bit his lip, trying to puzzle through all this. Giles had just kissed him, had said he'd wanted to do that and . . . god, the man had been so hard, so . . . intense. Why was he pulling away now? Wesley glanced at the photo and had to force his eyes away quickly.

\-----

Giles waited, honestly unsure which of the two Wesley would choose. He couldn't do this any other way, though. If he started anything with Wesley without making the man choose it would always be Wesley's thought that Giles had given him something, done him a favor. If there was ever going to be common ground between them, equal footing, they'd have to start out that way now and that meant Wesley had to take a step up.

It wasn't, when one looked at it dispassionately, a particularly hard choice. If Wesley wanted him, he'd toss the picture, but Giles knew it wasn't so clear cut in Wesley's mind. Even after all Giles had tried to do to show Wesley how he felt, the other man's self-esteem was dust to begin with.

Hence the risk. Hence the equal footing should Wesley choose to give up the picture.

Giles waited, patient, almost unmoving. It wasn't as if he didn't know which he _wanted_ Wesley to choose, but he was determined to wait, to make this Wesley's decision.

The man looked at him with wide, confused eyes, glancing back down to the picture. Giles could see his breathing pick up, could see the way Wesley's forehead furrowed. Wesley looked from him to the picture and back again before straightening. He looked Giles in the eye and took a deep breath.

"Giles--Rupert, I find you . . . extremely attractive and . . ." Wesley was blushing from the base of his neck to the tips of ears, but trying not to fidget. Giles had to force himself not to smile at the sight, not to reach out and touch that wonderfully flushed skin. "I'd like to get to know you better."


End file.
